


Get Me Out Of My Head

by UnrememberedSkies



Series: Whumptober 2019 Fills [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Delirium, Dolores POV, Gen, Hallucinations, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Post-Apocalypse, Sickfic, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 22:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrememberedSkies/pseuds/UnrememberedSkies
Summary: If a time-travelling teenager gets sick and delirious in a post-apocalyptic world, and the only witness is a mannequin named Dolores... did it really happen?





	Get Me Out Of My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Second fic for the [Whumptober 2019 ](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/) event!

_You need to rest; you’re sick._

“Can’t rest,” Five muttered, “I need to find more food.”

_We have enough to last us, for now, please rest before you collapse._

But her boy didn’t listen, he was stubborn like that. Always thought he knew best, even though she had proven time and time again to be the voice of reason in this relationship. He soldiered on, pulling her along in his makeshift cart, along with the food they’d pilfered from a surviving store stockroom, a blanket, a flashlight, and a handgun he’d found. She wasn’t sure what he needed _that_ for, there was no one else left.

Five was deathly pale, his face shone with sweat, and his lips were white and trembling. He was a determined little thing, she was learning. Something had broken in him before he found her, but beneath it was a steel core.

Even so, his body was tiring, his temperature rising. He’d picked up some virus that had managed to survive, and he was stubbornly ignoring his body’s deteriorating health. Perhaps he was afraid that if he lay down, he might never get back up. He didn’t confide in her, but it shone out from his tired eyes, and weary face. He was barely fourteen, but the oldest person alive.

He stopped suddenly, tilted his head upwards, and closed his eyes, taking several deep, painful breaths. His whole body was trembling. He turned to face her, leaning heavily against the cart, defeat on his face. “I may need to rest.”

She politely refrained from saying _I told you so._

He headed towards a preserved basement he had stayed in before. It had a vaguely sinister vibe, but it was dry, and contained no dead bodies, which was a step up from most other places. 

He left the cart in the burnt-out wreckage of the house, and carried her down the stairs. He stumbled slightly, and she feared he would fall head-first down into the basement, but he caught his balance, hanging onto the handrail and looking like he was going to vomit. 

Once he was downstairs, Five carefully placed her on an armchair speckled with cigarette burns, before he collapsed onto the bare mattress across the room, moaning in discomfort.

He slept, briefly and fitfully, turning from side to side, kicking and punching the air, moaning and muttering in his sleep. She watched from the armchair, his silent protector. 

It didn’t look restful, and she wasn’t surprised when his eyes suddenly opened wide, staring at her sightlessly. She saw his pupils shift as he focused, and he broke into a slightly manic grin. “Hey,” he slurred. “What are you doing here?”

He sat up clumsily, his wrist going from under him as he tried to push himself up. He caught himself a second before he crashed back onto the mattress, and swing his legs over the side. He swayed from side to side, still grinning unsettlingly.

“Dad’s gonna be so mad if he catches us down here,” he said, conspiratorially. “Playtime is only allowed on Saturdays between twelve and half past.” He cackled. “Daft old bastard.” He clapped his hands over his mouth and giggled, looking around to see if anyone else had heard.

Five pushed himself to his feet and made his unsteady way across the room to her. “You know what we should do?” he asked her, hands on his hips.

_What?_ she asked, humouring him.

“We should dance.” He held out his hand with a flourish, waiting for her to accept it. When she didn’t, his face dropped a little. “I know I’m not the best dancer. The others like to dance, but I- I suppose I never understood it. But I think I do now.”

He scooped her up and twirled her around.

_There’s no music,_ she said.

Five began to hum tunelessly, a mishmash of melodies half remembered. “You’re good at this,” he interrupted himself, his eyes glassy.

_You should sit down,_ she said, but he ignored her, spinning them both until he stumbled and crashed back down onto the mattress. He laughed into the stained material until his laughter turned to shudders, and he breathed shakily for several moments.

“I don’t feel good,” he mumbled.

_Try to sleep, darling,_ she said, abandoned on her side at the end of the mattress.

“You sound like my mom,” he remarked. “She’s a robot, you know.”

The sound of Five’s laboured breathing was the only sound in the silent basement. The world outside was empty, devoid of life. It was just them, and even then, only just.

Five shuffled around until he was lying on his side, bringing his knees up to his chest. “Once, when we were younger,” he started, words rolling into one another, “my brother Ben got the flu. He passed out in training. My dad was ssso mad.” He huffed and wriggled his whole body, apparently trying to get comfortable. “We weren’ s’posed to visit him but we all snuck up there after dinner. We din’t even plan it, just all met up in his room. We brought him a hot water bottle an’ a glass of milk, and Vanya brought her favourite book to read him.”

He went quiet, thoughtful. “He pro’ly just wanted to be left alone. But he never said anything, just let us hang out there and make a fuss. It took us like ten minutes to realise he’d fallen ‘sleep while we were arguin’ ‘bout the best way to look after him.”

He gave a watery smile, then tucked his chin into his chest, suddenly morose. “Where are they?” he asked, voice small.

She didn’t have an answer for him.

He blinked rapidly. “I’m sick,” he whined, “why aren’t they here?”

_I’m here,_ she said, but it would never be enough.

He didn’t reply to that, just stared off into the corner of the room. “I hope Dad hasn’t stopped ‘em coming,” he muttered, then shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of an unhelpful thought. “But that wouldn’t stop ‘em. We always break the rules when one of us is ill. Even Luther.”

_Go to sleep,_ she said, _they’ll be here in the morning._ It was a beautiful lie, but Five, in his delirious state, seemed to believe it. 

He smiled dopily, curling up tighter. “They’ll be here,” he repeated, and closed his eyes.

As he slept, his fever spiked. He became so restless that he accidentally kicked her off the mattress and she spent the rest of the night upside down on the floor. He moaned and cried out, spoke to people who weren’t there, the shadows of his dead siblings. His heart thudded in his chest, and his hands twitched against his body.

She wasn’t sure if he would make it through the night. Maybe if he didn’t, it would be a blessing. Maybe then he would see his siblings again, and she wouldn’t be made a liar.

* * *

But he survived. Because he was a fighter, and a stubborn little creature to boot. His fever broke late the next morning, and his shivering finally eased, allowing him to sleep a little more peacefully. 

Five slept long and deeply. She had lost track of how long. Time means nothing in the apocalypse. When he awoke, he didn’t move at first, only opened his eyes, his gaze darting about the basement, disorientated.

When satisfied it was just the two of them, he sat up, sighing softly. His gaze fell on her and he darted over to set her upright. “I’m sorry,” he said.

They sat together in silence, him holding her against him, his hand trembling on her shoulder. After a while, he stood up, began rooting through his rucksack. He found a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and glugged the majority of it down without taking breath.

When he’d finished, he lowered the bottle and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He turned back to her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”

She said nothing, just watched as he slung the rucksack over his shoulder, then strode over to pick her up. He held her close, pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Onwards,” he said, his voice shaking only a little.

They climbed the steps of the basement, and emerged into the bright sunlight of the post-apocalyptic world.

**Author's Note:**

> The thought of baby Fivey stuck in the apocalypse for forty years hurts my heart :( Comments and kudos make baby Fivey feel better, or maybe just me!


End file.
